


so hold on we've got our wings (and we're chasing the wind)

by suituuup



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1930s, Chicago is a nice guy in this one, F/F, Great Depression, Horse Racing, No cheating, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:27:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29882502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suituuup/pseuds/suituuup
Summary: Jockey Beca Mitchell hasn't had much luck so far. Until she meets Seabiscuit and his owners, Chicago and Chloe Walp.
Relationships: Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell, Chloe Beale/Chicago Walp
Comments: 33
Kudos: 126





	so hold on we've got our wings (and we're chasing the wind)

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the movie Seabiscuit. If you haven't seen it, the story will explain itself out. I used one of the OC main characters for the horse trainer, he's played by Chris Cooper if you need a visual.
> 
> If you haven’t seen the movie, I highly recommend it. A+ cast with Toney Maguire, Jeff Bridges, Elizabeth Banks and Chris Cooper. Even if you’re not that into horses, there is a much bigger picture to it. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own some lines taken from the movie (announcements during the race and some of the OC character’s lines)

**_Detroit, 1936_ **

“Oi, Mitchell!” 

Beca turned around just in time to catch the pitchfork tossed in her direction. 

“Stall 2 needs to be mucked out,” he said, a smirk curving his lips as Beca glared at him. “Well don’t just stand there, woman. We don’t have all morning.” 

Beca scowled at her boss’ son. “I was hired to race horses,” she reminded him. She hated his entitled pompous ass. “Not to muck stalls all day.” 

“Well,” he snickered. “This is America, not Mexico, or wherever you say you were a ‘jockey’. Women don’t race horses here.” 

Beca gritted her teeth, wishing she could knock that smug expression off his face with her right hook. But it was either mucking horse shit or sleeping outside, and it was pretty cold these days. So she bit back her pride and walked away, ignoring the group of jockeys standing in the middle of the courtyard as she opened the door to stall 2. 

“Hey Mitchell, if you’re lucky enough they might let you ride Old Barney one of these days!” Cal shouted, drawing a few cackles from his pals. 

Beca ignored him as she started hauling manure into the wheelbarrow. Old Barney was the slowest horse at the stable. He was only used for training, being forced to lose to boost other horses’ confidence. 

“Or maybe you should go back to the kitchen.” It was Gene, this time. The guy was a couple of quarters short of a roll. “That’s where women belong, isn’t it?” 

“Fuck you, Morris,” she spat out over her shoulder. 

“Or to the brothel,” Tim said, and she regretted sparing him a glance, finding him cupping his crotch. “Have you seen the rack on her?” 

Beca dropped her fork and stalked to him, shoving him hard enough to make him stumble back. He only laughed though, which made her even more furious. 

“Easy, doll,” he said, reaching out to touch her hair. Beca saw red and cloaked him in the face. 

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she muttered. 

A stunned silence descended upon the group as Tim touched his bloodied lip. He pinned Beca with a hard look. “You’re gonna regret that.” 

Beca took a few steps back, raising her fists in a protective stance. She wasn’t going to cower away from the asshole. “Come at me,” she baited, catching him hesitating. “What’s the matter?” Beca smirked. “Afraid to hit a woman?”

“You crazy bitch,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “I ain’t losing my job because of you.” He spat at her feet and walked away, muttering something inaudible under his breath. 

The rest of Beca’s day was spent mucking out, giving the horses hay, and walking them on foot. She was finally able to take a break around six before she had to feed the horses their grain. She leaned against the railing of the racetrack and lit a cigarette, puffing out a cloud of smoke towards the starry sky. 

“Can I bother you for a match?” 

Beca glanced to her left, furrowing her brow at the sight of a man she’d never seen around before. He was probably in his late fifties, and there was something wise about his features, something that was scarce around here.

Beca wordlessly fished into the pocket of her worn leather jacket for the small pack of matches, handing it over. 

“I heard you were a jockey,” the older man stated as he gave it back after lighting his own cigarette. 

Beca snickered. “I don’t know who told you that, ‘cause nobody around here seems to believe it.” 

“I got a horse for you to ride,” he said next. “If you’re willing to give it a try. He’s a fierce one with a big temperament, but something tells me you two will get along great.” 

He wore a sort of secretive smile, and Beca figured he had witnessed her little brawl earlier. 

“Ride and not walk around right? I’ve been made that promise before, sir.” 

“I’m hoping you can race him.” His words made Beca snap her head towards him. She hadn’t raced in over a year, ever since coming back from Mexico. “Should the two of you get along.” He extended his hand when he noticed she looked interested. “Name’s Tom Smith.” 

Beca gave it a firm shake. “Beca Mitchell.” 

She followed him to the south wing, the sounds of a horse kicking and thrashing about in a stall growing louder. Smith stopped in front of that specific stall, its occupant’s name was written in chalk on the door.  _ Seabiscuit.  _

Beca cast Smith an amused smile as the horse kicked some more. “You weren’t kidding.” 

She stepped closer and opened the door just enough to slip through. The horse reared, punching the air with his hooves, and Beca knew she was probably out of her mind, but she shut the door behind her and stepped further inside. 

“What’s got you so mad?” She asked in a soft tone as she approached. The animal snorted, smoke shooting out of his nostrils and dissipating into the crisp air. “It’s okay. I get it. I’m angry, too.” The horse surprisingly calmed down, observing Beca as she took another step closer. She reached into her pocket for the half-apple she’d store there. “You hungry?” 

The treat nestled in her palm, she stopped and extended her hand, wanting him to come towards her. He stared for a minute, as though seizing her up, then took a tentative step, and another, craning his neck and puckering his lips so he could reach for the piece of apple without coming any closer.

“You’re a smart one, aren’t ya?” Beca mused aloud with a soft chuckle, observing his eye as he munched on the treat. 

There was no light in there like his spirit had been so beaten up in the past, what left of it was broken. She knew all too well what that felt like. 

Stepping outside, she bobbed her head in a firm nod. “I’ll do it.” 

*

She tried him the next morning. It was a brisk fall morning, the leaves dancing in the trees with every gust of wind. Each rustle it made caused Seabiscuit to tense up, and Beca could feel him on the verge of bolting each time. Not from fear, but from the buzzing energy she could feel vibrating under her. She walked around first, then trotted to warm him up, until Smith motioned her over. 

He stood behind the railing, next to a couple. “Beca, this is Mr. and Mrs. Walp, Seabiscuit’s owners.” 

Beca bent down slightly to shake their hands, noting how soft the woman’s felt against her calloused one. Her eyes were the brightest blue Beca had ever seen, and her hair the most vibrant shade. She cleared her throat when she caught herself staring for a beat too long, straightening. “Pleasure to meet you both.” 

“Why don’t you give him a test run?” Smith suggested. 

“Sure thing.” 

There was no doubt about it; the horse was fast but in every direction. No matter how hard she tried, Beca couldn’t keep him in a straight line, and they ran the whole lap zig-zagging. 

It seemed like Seabiscuit had been so used to running around in circles, he had forgotten how to be a horse. Smith seemed to agree, and the next day, they loaded Seabiscuit into the lorry and took him out to the forest. 

“How far should I take him?” Beca asked as she sat on the horse, looking at the older man expectantly. 

Mr. and Mrs. Walp stood ten yards away next to their car, observing. 

The horse trainer smirked. “Til he can’t go on anymore.” 

A bright laugh puffed past Beca’s lips as she adjusted her tweed cap so it sat more firmly on her head. “Sounds like a pretty good ride.” 

Smith nodded and hit Seabiscuit’s rump without warning, the horse bolting forward into a powerful stride. They galloped up a well-defined, winding path, and Beca could feel the thoroughbred’s eagerness building up. 

When they reached a clearing with miles of flat, open grounds stretching out in front of them, Beca opened her fingers on the reins and clicked her tongue. “Come on boy, show me what you got!” 

Seabiscuit listened, and Beca’s cap nearly flew off her head as his pace quickened into a full gallop, his forelegs stretching as far as they could in front of him. 

“Woohoo!” She cheered, that feeling of unparalleled freedom seizing her as the horse reached a speed which, in her opinion, could match one of some of the best horses across the country. 

*

They left Detroit the following week. The Walps, Smith, Beca, and of course, Seabiscuit. 

The Walps’ ranch was located in California, and Beca couldn’t say she was too mad about leaving frigid Michigan before winter settled in. Her jaw nearly unhinged when they reached the property, the opulence of the Walps’ house stunning her into silence as she took her new surroundings in. 

Then came the food as they sat down for supper, and Beca was overwhelmed by the sheer quantity of it. She wasn’t used to eating her fill that she sat still for a whole minute, staring down at her plate. 

“It’s okay,” Mr. Walp said softly when he noticed she hadn’t touched her food. 

Beca looked up to find kind features, and glanced across the table at Mrs. Walp, only to be met with equal gentleness. She swallowed down that feeling that she didn’t deserve any of it, and picked up her fork. 

The next few days at the ranch were peaceful. Even though she had perfectly comfortable housing offered by the Walps, Beca slept in the hay shed, as she felt guilty of taking advantage of their generosity when she had yet to earn a penny on their behalf by winning some races. 

Tom decided they would start serious training once Seabiscuit had gotten used to his new quarters, which meant there wasn’t much to do during the afternoons. Beca found an old guitar in one of the stalls used for storage and fixed it up, strumming the chords as she sat against the large oak tree in the middle of Biscuit’s field. 

The horse would come over from time to time, nibbling at her hair or nuzzling her face before walking away to eat some more grass. 

“How’s bonding going?” 

Beca glanced up at the voice, catching Mrs. Walp walking towards her. Her red hair was pulled back in a bun and her lips painted a bright red, sunglasses covering her eyes. She carried a basket. “Oh. Hi there.” 

“Enjoying the Californian weather?” She asked as she set her basket down and lowered herself onto the grass, raising her sunglasses.

Beca’s brain needed to stop short-circuiting every time she saw those blues. 

“Very much so. Although I need to stay away from the sun or I’ll turn as red as a lobster.” 

Mrs. Walp giggled, then nodded towards her basket. “Fresh mandarine oranges from the tree at the back of the house, if you’d like one.” 

“Thanks.” After setting her guitar aside, Beca helped herself to one and started to peel it. “Have you and your husband lived here long?” 

The redhead hummed. “About three years. Chicago used to make cars, but we both love horses and decided to invest in one.” 

“Well, I hope Seabiscuit and I won’t disappoint, Mrs. Walp.” 

“Please, call me Chloe,” she requested softly. “Mrs. Walp makes me sound old, and you and I are practically the same age.” 

“Chloe it is, then,” Beca agreed with a nod and a lopsided smile. Their eyes locked for a few beats, and Beca cleared her throat, tilting her chin towards the instrument at her side. “I found this old guitar in one of the stalls. I hope it’s okay that I borrowed it and fixed it up.” 

“Of course. I love music,” she said. “Do you mind if I stick around and listen to you play?” 

Beca shook her head, smiling. “Not at all.” 

*

They headed to the training track the following morning.

The Walps and Smith hadn’t seen what Seabiscuit did the other day, and she needed him to prove himself. Fifty yards in, it felt like she was riding a completely different horse.

“Come on, boy,” she encouraged, clicking her tongue and hitting his rump a few times with her whip. He was fucking asleep. “Show ‘em what you got.” 

Seabiscuit barely responded, seemingly stuck in this cruising speed, no matter how many vocal signals Beca gave him. It wasn’t until they came around the bend, and Seabiscuit caught sight of the horse thirty yards ahead of them. 

The thoroughbred’s body suddenly buzzed underneath her, and his breathing quickened as he picked up speed, Beca experiencing that same thrill rush as during that ride through the woods. 

“That’s it, boy!” She cheered him on, clicking her tongue. He caught up with the horse ahead and easily passed him, zooming past the finish line. Beca huffed a stunned chuckle as she slowed him down. “Holy shit.” 

She met up with the Walps and Smith a few minutes later, trotting up to them. 

“You guys just broke the track record at Tanforan,” Smith told her. 

Beca’s eyes popped wider. “Seriously??” 

The trainer gave a satisfied nod. The Walps were smiling wide, and Beca found herself believing this might be the start of a great journey.

*

After three weeks of training and getting Seabiscuit back in shape, Smith decided they were ready for their first race. It was a small race, yet Beca was a nervous wreck. 

A knock at her bedroom door jolted her out of her thoughts as she paced at the foot of her bed. 

“Come in,” Beca called out. She wore a Henley shirt and pajama bottoms, her hair up in a messy bun atop her head. 

It was Chloe. “Hi.” 

Beca’s lips tipped in a lopsided smile. “Hey.” 

“I wanted to show you this,” she said as she stepped inside, holding up Beca’s silks to her chest. It was red with white sleeves, a large W for Walp sewn across the chest in white. 

“Looks amazing,” Beca breathed out, taking the soft fabric between her hands. It suddenly felt very real, and she hoped she wouldn’t disappoint them. She nodded, meeting Chloe’s eyes. “Very proud to wear your colors.” 

Chloe winked and reached out to squeeze her forearm. “Get some sleep.” 

“Goodnight, Chloe.” 

The racecourse was buzzing with people by the time Beca was ready to mount. She stood next to Smith while Sam, the Walps’ groom walked Seabiscuit around. The trainer pointed to the grey across the paddock area. 

“That’s the favorite. He’ll charge in late. Stay right off his flank as soon as you’re out of the box so Biscuit can see the competition. Don’t move ‘til that grey does.” 

Beca nodded firmly. “I got it.” 

She mounted with Sam’s help and lightly gripped the reins, tipping her helmet towards the Walps as they stood behind the railing. The crowd cheered as the tall grey horse walked onto the track ahead of her, and Beca felt nerves sprout in her belly as she led Seabiscuit into its start box. 

“It’s okay, boy,” she soothed and gave him a pat while the other horses were loaded in their respective box. She pushed onto her knees and gripped her reins tighter as they waited for the start signal. 

_ “And they’re off!”  _

Seabiscuit bolted when the gate opened, and Beca set her eyes on the grey, weaving past other horses until she was right behind him. She stayed right off his flank as they progressed all the way to the last bend, waiting for his move as instructed. 

She didn’t expect a horse cutting her off from the left to overtake, and Beca saw red. That bastard nearly put her on the rail. 

“Son of a bitch,” she muttered as they came around the bend towards the finish line, ignoring her trainer’s advice about waiting for the grey’s move and going after that asshole. 

She caught up with him and purposely got close enough to shove him. “I’m gonna put you in the rail, you piece of shit!” 

“What the hell?? Get off me!” 

“You cut me off!” She shouted, her focus slipping away from winning the race as she shoved him again. 

The finish line was close, and the volume from the crowd increased. The grey burst out of nowhere, beating Beca and Seabiscuit on the wire. 

“What the hell was that?!” Smith shouted as they made it back to the locker room. 

“He cut me off!” Beca exclaimed, still fuming about the ordeal. Her ego was hurt from losing, too. “He fouled me!” 

“So?? You didn’t fall, did you?” Smith pointed out, motioning towards the track with hand. “We had a plan.” 

“Was I supposed to just let him get away with it??” Beca cried. She clenched her jaw, setting her hand on her hips. 

Smith approached and set a hand on her shoulder. “What are you so mad about?” 

“He--” Beca sighed, glancing down as she deflated. It wasn’t really about the incident on the track. It was the pent-up pain she had been dragging around for years. She swallowed roughly, her gaze meeting her trainer. She couldn’t fuck up this chance. She knew Seabiscuit had what it took to win the greatest races. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, sir.” 

She avoided the Walps for the next two days until she ran into a fellow jockey who reminded her of the debt she owed him. A stupid bet she had made months ago which she was thoroughly regretting now. 

Beca found Chloe in the barn the following morning, petting Seabiscuit. 

“Good morning, Beca,” she greeted with that bright smile of hers. 

Beca rubbed the back of her neck. “Morning. I uh, I need to borrow some money.” 

Chloe’s focus shifted from the horse to her. “Oh?” 

“It’s, um, I need to see the dentist.” She cleared her throat, hating herself for lying. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to pay you back, well, when we win, I guess, if you and Mr. Walp still want me to ride.” 

Chloe cocked her head to the side, looking at her curiously. “Why wouldn’t we?” 

Beca buried her hands into her pockets and shuffled in place awkwardly. “Well, I fucked up last time.” 

“Mistakes happen,” Chloe said softly. She opened her handbag. “How much do you need?” 

Beca grimaced. “$10.” 

Chloe fished out a bill and handed it to her. It was a twenty. Beca’s mouth gaped wordlessly. “It’s okay,” Chloe murmured. “Take it.” 

“I…” Beca cleared her throat once more. “Thank you. That’s very kind.” 

Their next race took place two weeks later: Bay Meadows Handicap. The stakes were high, and Beca knew she couldn’t mess up this time. When the gates opened and Seabiscuit bolted forward, she went on the inside, remaining in the fifth position until that last bend.

“That’s it, boy, we’re okay,” she soothed when she felt him starting to get anxious. It was still too soon to make a move, just another fifty yards… “Just like that, take it easy.” 

Seabiscuit’s breathing quickened and he gave a head jerk as they came out of the last turn. Beca’s eyes locked on the finish line.  _ Now.  _ She released the pressure between her fingers and clicked her tongue. 

“Come on boy, let’s go!” 

They charged down the stretch with a terrific rush, passing the other horses one by one, Beca cheering Seabiscuit on as he gave it all he had to cross that line first. The crowd erupted when they did, and Beca threw her fist in the air, a feeling of euphoria seizing her as a wide, stunned smile broke across her features. 

They won. 

She was met by cheers when she and Seabiscuit walked out of the track for the winner’s picture next to Smith and the Walps. Chicago shook her hand, so did Smith, but Chloe hugged her. 

“Oh,” Beca let out in surprise, wrapping her arms around the other woman after a beat of shock. Warmth shot through her, but she wasn’t sure whether it was from the other woman hugging her or the adrenaline of winning. 

“Congratulations,” Chloe murmured as she pulled away. She cupped Beca’s cheek and Beca felt her breathing hitch in her throat. “Sorry, you’ve got some mud there.” 

“Oh,” Beca repeated, watching as Chloe reached inside her handbag for a handkerchief. She accepted it with a soft smile and faint blush. “Thank you.” 

After that race, they started winning most of them. By fall, they had finished first nine times, earning a total of $28,995 in prize money.

“What’cha reading?” 

Beca looked up from her book. Chloe was walking towards her as she sat against the oak tree in Seabiscuit’s field. The nice thing about California was that the temperatures were pleasant even in mid-October. 

“Mobydick. You familiar?” 

“Of course. I love that book.” She smiled. “Care for some company?” 

Beca patted the grass next to her, watching as Chloe took off her shawl and laid it on the ground before sitting down. Seabiscuit came over to say hello, and Chloe rubbed his forehead, whispering soft words to him. 

“You ride as well?” Beca asked, closing her book. 

“I used to when I was a kid,” she said as she turned towards Beca when Seabiscuit walked away. “I’m actually looking for a horse to take out on the trails around the area. Chicago doesn’t ride though, so I guess you’ll have to come with me.” 

Beca chuckled. “Sure, why not.” 

“Are you from Detroit?” 

“Um no, Vermont, originally.” 

“Did you grow up around horses?” 

Beca nodded. “I did, yeah. I had a decent childhood. I wanted to be a lawyer up until I was fourteen,” she explained. “Then the depression hit and threw us into poverty. I landed a job as a groom at the local racetrack to help my parents out with the bills. That’s how I got into racing.” 

“You’re the first female jockey I’ve met,” Chloe admitted. 

A humorless chuckle flitted past Beca’s lips. “I’m not surprised. Most owners don’t let women race. This is why I consider myself very lucky to be riding a horse like Seabiscuit.” She met Chloe’s gaze. “Thank you for giving me that opportunity.” 

“We’re both really glad we did,” Chloe said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear when it flew in front of her eyes. “You two have an exceptional bond.” 

Beca smirked. “I just bribe him with apples.” 

Chloe’s melodic laughter made Beca’s stomach flutter. Beca often found herself thinking about how beautiful she was, especially now, with the golden sunlight reflecting on her smooth skin. She snapped out of her daze when Chloe caught her staring, awkwardly clearing her throat as she glanced down at her book. 

“Would you… read a chapter or two for me?” 

Chloe’s request surprised her, but Beca nodded, opening her book to the right page. She found it difficult to focus with Chloe staring at her profile and stammered on a few words here and there, but overall did a good job. 

“You’re an excellent reader.” 

Beca shrugged. “My dad insisted we read a lot. He’d make me recite famous poems at the dinner table. Everyone loved it, myself included.”

Chloe’s head tilted to the side. “What sorts of poems?” 

Beca bent her knee, leaning forward and resting her elbow over it. “All sorts. Burns, Wilde, Whitman, Ascott…” 

A smile curved Chloe’s lips. “Do you have a favorite?” 

Nodding, Beca cleared her throat before starting. 

“‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers—

That perches in the soul—

And sings the tune without the words—

And never stops—at all— 

And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—

And sore must be the storm—

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm…” 

She was surprised when Chloe jumped in on the last paragraph. 

“I’ve heard it in the chillest land—

And on the strangest Sea—

Yet, never, in Extremity,

It asked a crumb—of Me.”

“Emily Dickinson,” Chloe murmured when silence descended upon them. “I love her poems.” Their gazes locked for a few beats before Chloe’s flickered down to her watch. “It’s nearly dinner time.” 

Beca nodded. “I’ll be right in.” 

As Chloe walked away, Beca inwardly groaned. Crushing on a married woman was definitely a recipe for disaster. 

*

As Seabiscuit wasn’t a fan of muddy tracks, they took a racing break over the winter. Beca spent most of her days taking Seabiscuit out on hacks, playing the guitar, or reading, outside in Seabiscuit’s field whenever it wasn’t raining or in the hay shed whenever it did. 

“You know, we have heating in the house.” 

Chloe’s melodic voice never failed to make Beca’s stomach flutter. They had gotten closer over the last few months, spending a lot of one-on-one time together. Beca was concerned Chicago might tell his wife to stop spending her afternoons with Beca, but Chloe seemed to be the one with the pants, according to the few interactions she witnessed, and Chicago never seemed put off by it, like most husbands would if their wives publicly gave them a piece of their mind with as much fire as Chloe did sometimes. 

Beca smirked, lowering her book. “I know. I just like this spot.” 

“I brought you some coffee,” Chloe said, motioning to the basket she was holding. “And a piece of apple pie.” 

“I’m going to gain too much weight over the break if you keep feeding me like this,” Beca quipped, laughing. Chloe baked all sorts of sugary treats, and Beca was always too weak to resist the temptation. “Seabiscuit won’t be happy if I put on ten pounds.” 

“You can tell him it was my fault.” 

Beca reached down from the top of the hay pile for the basket. “Wanna come up here?” 

Chloe brightened. “Sure.” She used the ladder on the side and settled beside Beca. “Have you been reading all day long?” 

Beca shook her head. “Spent some quality time with Biscuit this morning, grooming him and telling him jokes,” she said, smiling when Chloe chuckled. “What about you?” 

“I made this pie and went to the meadow to take a few pictures. Found a couple of deers grazing.” 

“Really? You’ll have to show me when you develop the films.” 

Chloe’s other passion besides horses was photography, and she carried her camera around everywhere she went. Beca loved whenever Chloe talked about the wonders of the art. 

Come to think of it, she loved anything that had to do with Chloe. Her eyes, her smile, her laughter, the adorable way she spoke to Seabiscuit, the contagious joy she expressed whenever they won, or how happy she was got from simple things, such as smelling a fresh rose. 

Yes; it was safe to say Beca’s crush hadn’t gone anywhere. 

*

“Should we stop here?” Chloe called out from a dozen of yards behind. 

“Sure,” Beca agreed, leading Seabiscuit to the nearby tree. She stepped off and undid his girth, sliding the saddle off his back, then taking off his bridle so he could graze unbothered by the bit in his mouth. 

Chloe went through the same motion with Pumpkin, the palomino horse Smith had found for her. Seabiscuit and Pumpkin had bonded almost instantly, which made Beca and Chloe’s hacks out all the more pleasant. 

She sat down against the large trunk of the tree, looking up and catching Chloe snapping a photo of her. 

“Smile,” Chloe requested in a sing-song tone. 

Beca glared. “Smile? I don’t know what that is, you should be aware of that by now.” 

A giggle puffed past Chloe’s lips as she lowered her camera. “How come you’re perpetually grumpy?” 

“How come you’re a perpetual ray of sunshine?” Beca fired back, cocking an eyebrow. 

Chloe shrugged. “I just find happiness in the small things.” 

A genuine smile pulled on Beca’s lips, and Chloe had already raised her camera and snapped a photo by the time she realized she was smiling. 

“Gotcha,” Chloe boasted, smirking. 

Beca’s eyes rolled skyward. “You’re a pain in my butt, Walp.” 

Chloe gasped. “Take that back,” she demanded, though the smile tickling at the corners of her mouth indicated she wasn’t mad at all. 

“Nope,” Beca murmured, flashing her a grin. 

“I don’t believe you,” Chloe stated as she sat down next to her, setting her camera aside. “I think you  _ like  _ me.” 

Beca licked her lips. “I don’t know what gave you  _ that  _ idea.” 

“Admit it,” Chloe requested, pinching Beca’s side. Beca squirmed away, and that gave Chloe ever the more reason to do it again. 

_ “Stop,”  _ Beca managed between giggles (  _ giggles!)  _ as she tried to bat Chloe’s hands away. By the time Chloe relented, she was half lying on top of Beca, and Beca felt her breath hitch in her throat as Chloe reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind Beca’s ear. She watched Chloe’s gaze drop to her lips and hers followed the same motion. “Chloe…” 

Chloe slowly leaned in, brushing her mouth across Beca’s in the most tentative of kisses. Ignoring the voice in her head telling her this was a terrible idea, Beca reached up to cup her cheek, tilting her head up to meet Chloe’s lips in another kiss. 

The world around them seemed to stop as they traded soft, slow kisses, and Beca was slowly ascending to a cloud when she crashed back down with a hard thud. 

_ Chicago.  _

“Chlo,” she murmured, forcing herself to end their liplock. She sat up and cleared her throat, attempting to jog her brain into working. “Your-- your husband.” 

She could be fired if Chicago learned about this, and she didn’t want to make Chloe a cheater. She was better than that. 

But Chloe simply smiled and slid her hand inside Beca’s. “Have you ever heard of a lavender marriage?” 

Beca’s brow furrowed. She shook her head. 

“It’s when a man who likes men, or a woman who likes women, or both, marry into the opposite sex as an agreement of convenience to escape the stigma created by society.”

It took Beca a few beats. Her jaw slowly dropped. “Chicago likes men?” 

Chloe nodded. “And I like women. If that wasn’t clear,” she said with a giggle. “We’ve been friends since we were kids. When the time came for me to find a husband and Chicago a wife, we decided to get married to each other. We’ve… never shared a bed.” 

Beca blinked in slow succession. They definitely fooled her. As it dawned on her what that meant for  _ them  _ , a sheepish sort of smile appeared across her features. “I won’t get fired if I keep kissing you, then?” 

“You might if you don’t,” Chloe murmured, tossing Beca a look that made her weak in the knees. 

Beca could only oblige her boss’ wishes, crushing the distance between them to pull her in a searing kiss. 

*

Winter soon morphed into spring, and Seabiscuit was ready to hit the track again. 

They won their first couple of races back.

Every time the crowd roared as they walked onto the track, Beca still had trouble believing this was all for them. 

The Walps gave Beca a fair cut of the prize money each time, more than most owners would give their jockey. She didn’t really know what to do with that much money, except spending it on the person who had become so important to her. 

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” Chloe said when Beca presented her with a large square box on the night of her birthday. 

They had had dinner with everyone beforehand, and Beca had snuck into Chloe’s bedroom later in the evening, as she had almost every night since that day they kissed. It had been the happiest two months of her life, and while she knew they could never be out in public, sharing those behind closed doors moments felt more than enough. 

Beca would never take her time with Chloe for granted, and appreciated every second of it. 

“I know,” Beca murmured as she sat back on the bed, clad in cotton shorts and a tank top. 

Chloe sat up, the sheet pooling to her waist and exposing her chest. Beca shamelessly got an eyeful. She couldn’t help herself; her girlfriend was a goddess. 

A gasp flitted past Chloe’s lips when she lifted the lid. “Beca…” 

She knew Chloe could afford such a camera, but Beca couldn’t resist when she saw it the other day while strolling the streets of San Francisco. 

“Are you  _ mad?  _ ” 

“No,” Beca said.  _ Just in love _ , she wanted to add but stopped herself. First, it sounded cheesy as heck, and second, the mere thought of telling Chloe how she truly felt freaked her out. “I just wanted to give you something nice.” 

“It’s beautiful,” Chloe whispered, and tears were shining in her eyes when she looked up. She cupped Beca’s cheek and pulled her in for a sweet kiss.  _ “Thank you.”  _ She swatted Beca’s arm when they parted, drawing a yelp from the brunette. 

“What was that for??” 

“You shouldn’t spend money on me,” Chloe said with a slight frown. 

“I don’t have anybody else to spend it on,” Beca argued softly, and Chloe immediately softened, something akin to guilt swirling in her eyes. 

“What happened to your family?” She asked, quietly. 

Beca cleared her throat and shrugged. “I’m not sure.” She rolled on her side and cradled her cheek in her propped-up hand. Chloe mirrored her position a beat later. “I have four siblings. All younger. When the depression hit and I got that job at the racetrack, my dad left me there. He… asked my boss to take me in. One mouth less to feed, I guess.” 

“Beca…” 

She had never told anyone and had never thought it would feel this good to share her story with someone she trusted. “I think he believed he was doing the right thing. At least he knew one of his kids wouldn’t live in poverty, y’know? He just didn’t take into account the heartbreak and how lost I would feel on my own.” 

“I’m so sorry,” Chloe whispered as she stroked her forearm back and forth with the tips of her fingers. 

Beca shrugged, catching her hand and pressing a kiss to her palm. “It’s fine. It was a long time ago.” She swallowed. “It took me a while to let go of the anger I felt towards his decision, but I’m okay now.”

Chloe nodded, then gently closed the gap between them, brushing a soft kiss to her mouth. “Thank you for sharing that with me.” 

Beca smiled, closing her eyes as she basked in the moment. “Does, um, Chicago know? About us?” 

“Yeah. He um, he actually wouldn’t stop teasing me about my crush on you, long before I kissed you.” 

Beca chuckled. “Really? Was I the only one who didn’t notice, then?” 

“No, I think Smith is pretty clueless. Still to this day.” 

Beca nodded; it was definitely better that way. They couldn’t really be open about whatever this was. 

Chloe snapping a picture of her drew Beca out of her thoughts. 

“Excuse me,” she said, tugging the sheets higher. “I’m naked.” 

Chloe grinned. “Don’t worry,” she husked, bending down to kiss her. “No one but me will see this.” 

Beca hummed, chasing her lips for another kiss. She gently plucked the camera from Chloe’s hold and set it aside, rolling on top of Chloe to resume with their private birthday celebration.

*

Throughout the year, Seabiscuit became a consistent winner throughout the country, from San Francisco to New York City. 

He turned into a national phenomenon; the horse from the other side of the tracks who became a champion. His unlikely success proved a welcome distraction to millions during the Great Depression. 

Beca wasn’t really one for the cameras, much more enjoying those quiet days at the ranch over the frenzy happening around the pair after each win. Luckily, Chicago seemed to love answering the many questions, while Beca and Smith politely hung back and smiled for the reporters. 

By the end of 1937, Seabiscuit was the highest-earning racehorse in the country. 

_ “War Admiral?”  _ Beca asked as she shrugged on a shirt. “Are you positive?” 

Beca was momentarily distracted by Chloe’s naked form as she strutted to the door, barely registering the question. She pouted when Chloe slid on a robe, that pout quickly morphing into a grin when Chloe walked back to her, robe left untied. These moments, whenever they got to in their own little bubble, were Beca’s favorite part of the day. 

Chloe hummed. “His owner gave Chicago a call an hour ago.” 

“And you waited an hour to tell me??” Beca squeaked, her jaw dropping as she shifted from her lying position to kneel on the mattress. 

“I had other priorities,” Chloe murmured as she laid back down, wiggling her eyebrows.

“He’s like, the Seabiscuit of the East Coast,” Beca exclaimed, eyes wide. “He won the Triple Crown this year.” 

“I’m aware,” Chloe said, amusement swirling in her own. 

“And the owner wants to match race?” She echoed Chloe’s words from earlier, just to make sure she had heard her correctly. 

Chloe made another sound of affirmation. “That’s what Chicago said.” 

“Holy shit,” Beca breathed out. That whole year had felt too good to be true. Seabiscuit, Chloe… Beca half-expected to wake up from a terrific dream. She shook her head, grinning.  _ “Holy shit.  _ Are we gonna do it?” 

Chloe giggled. “Chicago wants Smith’s opinion before giving the green light.” 

“Holy  _ shit _ ,” she repeated, flopping onto her back and staring at the ceiling as she tried to wrap her head around the news. “This is  _ huge. _ ” 

Chloe puffed out a laugh. “You’re adorable.”

Beca twisted her head towards her, enchanted by the ethereal sight that was Chloe at that very moment. Vibrant curls falling around her shoulders, mischievous eyes, the material of her robe parted just to allow a glimpse of her round breasts and short enough to reveal the smoothness of her legs.

Beca grabbed Chloe’s camera and snapped a photo. “For  _ my  _ personal enjoyment,” she quipped when Chloe raised a questioning eyebrow. “Hey,” she breathed, setting the camera down and leaning closer. Her nose brushed against Chloe’s. “I love you.” 

That beaming smile took her breath away and gave it back all at once. “I love you, too.” 

* 

Of course, Smith agreed. The match race was to take place on November 1rst 1938, which meant they had exactly nine months to prepare for it. 

But Beca’s mind wasn’t on the match race. Not yet. The Santa Anita Handicap was. A $100,000 race that she and Seabiscuit had yet to claim. Seabiscuit unsurprisingly won his two first races of the season, but the competition didn’t compare to Santa Anita’s lineup, and the track was soggy, so Beca knew it wouldn’t be an easy win. 

“Look out for Rosemont,” Smith advised. “He closes in like a freight train.” 

Beca watched the sorrel horse bearing the number 4, nodding her head. “Got it.” 

She mounted minutes later, tossing Chloe a wink as she and her husband stood behind the railing. The horses got loaded into the boxes, and Beca could feel Seabiscuit buzzing with anticipation. He bolted out of the box, and Beca stayed off the rail to avoid the muddier track, keeping to the middle of the pack until that last bend, until Seabiscuit felt ready to make his move. 

They went into the lead by a length. Two lengths. Three. A grin broke out on Beca’s face as she stared at the finish line, already smelling that sweet scent of victory. 

She didn’t see Rosemont until he burst out from her right, beating them by a nose. 

Smith was furious, especially when Beca told him the reason why she didn’t see the other horse. 

“Hi.” 

Beca looked up and clenched her jaw. “Hey.” She went back to applying soap on her saddled. That was normally Sam’s job, but she needed something to keep herself busy instead of thinking about the race over and over again. 

“Are you alright?” 

Beca shrugged. She could feel herself shut out from other people, and Chloe didn’t deserve that. Her shoulders slumped with the heavy sigh that puffed out of her. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” 

“That you were blind in one eye?” 

Beca nodded. “I should have from the first day. But I was scared you might pick another jockey, so I didn’t say anything.” She glanced up, finding nothing but understanding staring back at her. “Are you mad?” 

“No,” Chloe murmured. “Neither is Chicago. And before you ask, we’re not looking for another jockey. There’s no Seabiscuit without you in the equation,” she paused. “I just wish you trusted me enough to tell me.” 

Beca licked her lips. “I do trust you, Chlo. I just… I don’t know. It felt too late to say anything.” She swallowed. “I had glaucoma when I was a kid. Didn’t spread to the other eye. It never bothered me much, until today. I promise I’ll be more cautious from now on.” 

They took the train to Baltimore two weeks before the match race and were received like kings, given a whole stable for just Seabiscuit and Pumpkin. 

The floors of the stable were covered in a red  _ carpet  _ . It didn’t even  _ smell  _ like a barn. Beca had never seen anything like it. 

“Is that him?” Chicago asked, lowering his binoculars. 

The four of them were hiding in the bushes by War Admiral’s private stables. While they had  _ heard  _ of the horse, they didn’t know what he looked like. 

“Nope. Too small,” Smith said, tilting his chin in the opposite direction. Beca’s gaze followed, and she audibly gulped at the sight of a massive black thoroughbred. He didn’t seem a lot taller than Biscuit, but he was certainly more massive. That didn’t mean he was impressive on the track as well. 

_ Nevermind,  _ Beca thought as they watched him train the following day. She definitely felt less confident now. 

“Seabiscuit’s gotta take the lead,” Smith said. 

Beca’s gaze snapped to her trainer. Seabiscuit liked to run with the pack and  _ then  _ take the lead. 

_ “How?”  _ Chicago asked exactly what she was thinking. 

“He needs to learn how to break first,” Smith explained, then nodded towards the track. “If that monster shakes loose, we’ll never catch him.” 

That meant re-training him, something very difficult to do to a horse at this stage of their racing career. In two weeks, nonetheless. As Smith didn’t want anybody to find out about their strategy, he decided they would train at night. 

In the dark, save for one lamp post that didn’t light further than a five yards perimeter. 

“How far should I take him?” Beca asked, pushing the tweed cap lower onto her head. 

“No more than a hundred feet.” 

They got Seabiscuit used to bolt at the sound of the bell, Smith brushing a whip past his flank on the same beat to trigger a predatory response. By the time they stopped using the whip, Seabiscuit had made the association between that and the bell and flew forward as soon as he heard it. 

“You want me to run the whole track?? I can’t see out there!”

“Just once,” Smith said. “And he can.” 

“Tom, come on--”

Beca bit back a curse as she gripped the reins, getting herself in position. Seabiscuit bolted forward when Chloe pressed the bell, and darkness soon surrounded the pair. 

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered under her breath. “Damn it, Tom.” 

An odd feeling of comfort grew within her as they progressed further down the track. She focused on the thundering of Seabiscuit’s hooves as they rhythmically beat the ground with each stride and the way the moonlight seemed to bounce off the railing, guiding them through the pitch-black, starless night. She realized she trusted that horse with her eyes shut, and how Seabiscuit seemed to equally trust her, letting her lead him into a completely unfamiliar environment without question. 

As they continued to train every night, Beca gradually felt more hopeful that they had a shot at this. She knew Seabiscuit had not only the legs to win this, but the heart.

The race took place during a crisp, sunny Thursday afternoon. Some 40,000 people squeezed into the Old Hilltop to watch what was deemed by newspapers across the country as the race of the century. Beca’s hand trembled slightly as she wrapped her gripping tape around the hilt of her riding crop. The locker room was empty, as War Admiral’s jockey was getting ready in the other one. 

She glanced up when the door opened, a smile managing to surface on her nervous features at the sight of Chloe. 

“Sounds like the bleachers are packed,” Beca said, releasing a strained chuckle. 

Chloe nodded as she stepped closer. “Full house.” 

Beca puffed out a breath, her eyes flitting to the clock hanging above the door. Half an hour before showtime. She was probably completely nuts for doing this now, right before the biggest race of her life, but to hell with it. 

She grabbed her leather jacket from the bench and fished inside its pocket for the ring she had bought a while ago, presenting it to Chloe. 

A gasp bounced against the walls, and Chloe’s eyes widened. “Beca…” 

“I know two women can’t get married, and I know you’re technically  _ already  _ married to someone else, but…” she cleared her throat. “You’re the love of my life, and I figured-- if we wear the rings, we’ll know. So… will you secretly accept to spend the rest of our days together by agreeing to wear this ring?” 

Chloe crushed the distance between them, tugging Beca in for a slow, deep kiss steeped in love. “Yes,” she breathed out, resting her forehead against Beca’s. “I will.” 

A wide grin broke across Beca’s face, and tears stung her eyes as she took Chloe’s right hand and-- 

“Wait,” Chloe said, switching the pretend ring Chicago gave her to her right hand, then extending her left one, the one it should be on. “Nobody will notice.” 

Beca nodded and slid it on Chloe’s finger, lifting her hand to her mouth to press a kiss there. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too,” Chloe murmured, brushing a soft kiss to Beca’s lips. She reached out to do up the last two buttons on Beca’s silks. “Now go win that race, love.” 

As the two thoroughbreds paraded to the post just before three, there was no emotional outburst. The big crowd seemed too full of tension. The inner field had been opened to the spectators, and Beca had never seen that many people attend a race before. Some were hanging from the rafters in the grandstand, and more were outside the track, hanging from trees, standing on rooftops. 

Beca’s heart drummed against her ribs as she led Seabiscuit behind the rope, War Admiral’s owner had refused to use a starting gate. Both horses were electric, prancing with barely contained anticipation. 

The bell rang. 

_ “It's Seabiscuit by a nose, now by a head.” _

Seabiscuit had shot out in front with a great burst of speed and had a full-length lead as they passed the first furlong, two before the first quarter. 

_ “Now, coming into the backstretch, it's Seabiscuit.” _

Beca knew she had to give her opponent the lead back, so Seabiscuit could look the other horse in the eye. 

“Easy, boy,” she soothed, Seabiscuit fighting against her hand as she slowed him down just a tad, enough for War Admiral to catch up. 

_ “It's now War Admiral! It's War Admiral! It's Seabiscuit and War Admiral, neck and neck as they go down the backstretch!”  _

For almost a half a mile they ran as one horse, along with the last turn. As they neared the last stretch, Beca felt the telltale signs that her partner was ready to be let go. 

She couldn’t resist, twisting her head as Seabiscuit fought against her hand, and smirked at the other jockey. “So long, Charley!” 

As soon as she released the pressure on the reins, Seabiscuit burst with extra speed, and it seemed as though War Admiral had no answer. Seabiscuit left him so far behind that it wasn't even a contest down the stretch.

_ “Here comes Seabiscuit!”  _

The cheering grew louder as Seabiscuit gained on his opponent length by length. Beca’s heart nearly burst out of her chest with pride as they crossed the finish line. 

Chloe pulled her into a bone-crushing hug as soon as Beca got down, and Beca laughed happily, holding her for a beat longer before moving on to Chicago, Tom, and of course, Sam. 

She stroked Biscuit’s forehead, tears shining in her eyes. “Well done, partner.” 

*

The small horse with the heart of the lion.

That was how newspapers described Seabiscuit after the match race. 40 million people had followed the race on the radio, even FDR, who had reportedly stopped his meeting in order to listen to the broadcast. 

The Horse of the Year honors followed, right before the year 1938 drew to an end. They returned to the West Coast just in time for Christmas. Beca had never been big on the holiday since the Depression hit, but Chloe loved to celebrate and worked around the clock with the house’s servants to whip out a delicious meal for all of them. 

Sitting around that table, with Sam, Tom, Chicago, and Chloe, talking and laughing, felt like being part of a family, for the first time in too long. 

And it was all thanks to that small horse who captured their hearts. 

Beca stuck around after dinner, nursing her glass of wine while the others filed out of the room, except for Chloe. Chloe locked the dining room doors once Chicago had walked out, then walked over to the record player. 

“May I have this dance?” She asked when the music started, extending her hand. 

She looked absolutely gorgeous in that green dress, her hair falling in neat curls over her shoulders. It had been hard for Beca to keep her heart-eyes in check over dinner, and they now sparkled with unbridled love as she rose to her feet, taking Chloe’s hand and tugging her against her. They started to gently sway to  _ Into the Mood  _ in the otherwise empty dining room, foreheads gently pressed together. 

“This was the best Christmas I had in a long while,” Beca murmured, holding their linked hands to her chest. She brushed a kiss to Chloe’s knuckles. “Even if it’s weird to say I celebrated it with my wife’s husband.” 

Chloe giggled. “That’s true,” she said. “And I like that. You calling me your wife.” 

“Yeah?” Beca breathed. “Good, ‘cause I really like saying it.” 

They danced until the early hours of the morning, retreating to Chloe’s bedroom to get some much-needed sleep after those emotional few months. 

*

In March of 1939, the Walps purchased another horse named Fair Knightess, intending on Beca to ride him as well. 

The Tanforan racecourse was quiet that Monday morning as Beca familiarized herself with the two-year-old mare by breezing around the track, the Walps and Smith watching from afar. 

It all happened so quickly, Beca didn’t register any of it. The exhaust pipe of a nearby tractor backfired, and the filly reared, Beca hitting the ground with a thud. Panic seized her insides when she realized her foot was stuck in the stirrup, and sure enough, the horse bolted forward in fright, dragging Beca along. 

“Whoa!” She shouted, trying to pull her foot free. “Easy, easy!” 

The filly headed towards the stables, and Beca started to feel lightheaded as her head repeatedly bounced on the pavement. The side of a stall stopped her race as she collided straight into it, and was knocked out cold.

She woke up sometime later in unfamiliar surroundings. Chloe was next to her, her hand wrapped around Beca’s. She smiled when she realized Beca was awake, but Beca could tell she had been crying. “Hi.” 

“Hey,” Beca’s voice came out gruff. Her leg was held up by a sling and cast. “What happened?” 

“You got dragged by the filly,” Chicago explained from his spot by the window. Smith stood in the corner. 

“How bad is it?” Beca croaked out. 

“They had to operate. Your leg’s broken in eleven places,” Chloe said, her own voice cracking. 

Beca’s brows knitted together. “Will I get to ride again?” 

Chicago didn’t reply right away. “The doctor said you’d walk.” 

“I see,” Beca breathed out, swallowing the lump forming in her throat. She closed her eyes and clenched her teeth to keep it together. She had never had her heart broken, but it certainly felt like it right then. “Can you guys leave, please?” 

She heard two sets of footsteps depart, and opened her eyes to look at Chloe, who was still sitting by her bedside. 

“I just-- I wanna be on my own.” 

Tears filled Chloe’s eyes, but she nodded, pushing to her feet and bending down to brush a kiss to Beca’s forehead. 

Beca remained in the hospital for five days, mostly wallowing in her sorrows, then was driven back to the ranch with the ambulance. She was supposed to be on bed rest, but couldn’t bear staying on her own in her room, so Chloe set up a recovery station out on the porch. There Beca read, played the guitar, watched the birds come and go, whenever Chloe wasn’t keeping her company. 

“Someone wanted to say hello,” Chloe said as she led Seabiscuit closer. The horse reached over the fence, craning his neck to nuzzle Beca’s hand. 

“Hello, my friend,” she murmured, stroking his forehead with her palm. “How you doin’?” 

The Walps (especially Chloe) were not in favor of finding another jockey, but Beca’s insistence eventually proved efficient, especially when she told them she knew someone they could trust. An old friend of hers, George Woolf, aka The Iceman, had taken over the reins since Beca’s accident, and they were to enter their first race next week. 

“I miss you,” Beca added, the thought of never riding him again shrinking her throat. 

That next Sunday, she sat on the porch with the radio on, her hands wringing together with nerves. 

_ “All hail the conquering hero. Yes, folks, he's back. The little engine that could. No more match races for this little pony because, quite frankly, they're all outta matches.” _

Beca chuckled, shaking her head. 

“ _ Who's he gonna race? Pegasus? l pity these other horses. Heh.” _

She knew all too well every race was different, and the victory was never acquired until crossing that finish line. 

Her heartbeat picked up as the announcer continued, letting his audience know the horses were being loaded up in the start boxes. 

_ “And they’re off! Seabiscuit in the fifth position, with Savage Beauty taking the lead, followed by Specify and Gray Jack. Now moving to the-- Seabiscuit is slowing down!”  _

Beca’s heart lurches to her throat as she sits up straighter, listening intently. 

_ “Woolf appears to be concerned and dismounts. Something seems to be wrong with the Biscuit, but don’t worry folks, the vet is already on his way. Back to the race, Savage Beauty is still in the lead as they come out of the backstretch…” _

The next hour ticked by painfully slowly as she waited to hear from Chloe. She sprang up as quickly as she could when the phone rang, making her way inside the house with her crutches and taking the device from Maria’s hand. 

“How is he??” 

_ “The vet says he ruptured a whole ligament,”  _ Chloe said, and Beca could hear her voice shaking.  _ “But it’s not broken.”  _

Beca released the air that had felt stuck between her ribs for the past hour. Broken bones meant the horse was better off being put down. 

_ “Beca, he’ll never race again,”  _ Chloe added, solemnly.  _ “But he’ll live.”  _

Seabiscuit came home the following day. Beca met him by the trailer as he stepped out, dropping her crutches and making the last few steps bouncing on one foot. She hugged him around the neck, stroking his mane. 

“It’s okay, boy,” she murmured, swallowing the lump in her throat. “We’re both a little banged up, but we’ll be alright.” 

Beca insisted to be the one to take care of the dressing on Seabiscuit’s leg. She would sit on a stool, her own plastered leg extended in front of her as she changed the bandages. 

“I know, it sucks, huh?” Beca murmured as she finished wrapping Seabiscuit’s leg. “We just gotta be patient. Like Hadrian said about Rome, ‘Brick by brick, my citizens, brick by brick.” 

Seabiscuit’s ears perking up indicated he had seen something, and Beca glanced over her shoulder to find Chloe snapping a picture. 

“Hey, creeper,” she called out, a smirk curving her lips. “You see that, Biscuit? We might be done with our career but photographers keep bothering us.” 

“Hey,” Chloe said in mock-offense, shaking her head as she approached. She bent down, Beca craning her neck up as Chloe laid an upside-down kiss to her lips. “How’s he doing?” 

“He’s bored,” Beca said as Chloe fed him half an apple she pulled out from her pocket. Chloe always carried an apple around. “I can’t wait till he can get out to the field, at least.” 

“Yeah,” Chloe breathed. “Soon.” 

Flowers bloomed all over the ranch as summer settled in at Ridgewood. Beca’s cast was taking off, and she now walked with the use of a cane, the doctor telling her she might always have a limp. Seabiscuit was doing much better, spending his days grazing in his field or napping in the sun. 

“Have you ever traveled outside of the US?” Beca asked, glancing up at Chloe. 

They sat in Seabiscuit’s paddock, Beca lying out in the grass with her head resting on Chloe’s lap as she reclined against the large oak tree. 

“No,” Chloe said as her fingertips feathered through Beca’s hair. “But I’ve always wanted to.” 

Beca smiled. “Where would you go first?” 

“I’m not sure. Maybe Europe? Somewhere with good food. And history.”

Beca caught Chloe’s other hand and lifted it to her mouth to kiss her knuckles. As much as she would have liked, she knew kids weren’t in their future, so maybe they could travel the world instead. 

“We should go one day,” Beca decided, gazing up at Chloe. Word of a possible war across the pond had just reached America, so it was definitely not safe to go there now, but someday. They still had their whole life ahead of them, being both just shy of thirty years old.

The leaves rustled above them as a gust of wind swept through the tree, surprising Seabiscuit as he stood grazing a dozen yards away. The horse whinnied and trotted away, without a hint of lameness. 

“Did you see that?” Beca asked, straightening in a flash. 

Chloe looked just as shocked. She let out a stunned laugh. “I wonder if he’ll ever cease surprising us.” 

When Chloe went out to town that following week, Beca took the old saddle collecting dust in the barn and carried it over to Sam. 

“If Miss Chloe finds out about this…” The groom drawled out, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“She’s not here,” Beca reminded him. “Besides…” she continued, lifting the hem of her pants to reveal a stick of wood tucked in her boot used as a sort of brace for her leg. “I’ll be fine.” 

Sam still looked unsure but complied. She took Seabiscuit out to the small, fenced paddock for a short walk, just to see how he felt. 

“Here comes Seabiscuit, bursting from the last turn and charging down the last stretch,” she narrated minutes later in her best reporter voice, moving her arms forward and back to pretend they were in a full gallop when they were just walking. “He floors his opponents one by one. Now third! Now second! It’s Seabiscuit, right on the wire, to win the Santa Anita Handicap with Beca Mitchell aboard, wooo!” 

Sam clearing his throat behind her made her glance over her shoulder, and she gulped at the sight of Chloe. 

“Any chance you found this too adorable to be mad?” Beca edged sheepishly as she guided Seabiscuit closer. 

Chloe shook her head and huffed a laugh. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Beca Mitchell.” 

Over the next few months, she and Seabiscuit continued their healing journey. After a thorough vet check-up, Seabiscuit was cleared to attempt canter. Seabiscuit was out of shape after all this time off and it would take several more months to have him back in top form, but there was hope that his career wasn’t over, after all. 

When next spring came around, Seabiscuit was back on the training track, with Woolf. Chicago and Smith mentioned Santa Anita as his last race, the one missing to his prize list, the one Beca nearly had that time she messed up. 

And she was thirsty for a rematch. 

Chicago and Smith were relatively easy to convince. Her wife on the other end...

“No.” 

“Chloe, come on, hear me out,” Beca pleaded as Chloe started pacing up and down the length of her bedroom. “My leg feels fine! I barely feel a thing in the stirrups.” 

“It’s not just about the leg,” Chloe muttered, shaking her head as she wrapped her arms around her frame. “It’s-- you could fall, and get trampled, and--” She shut her eyes, visibly swallowing. “You could  _ die  _ , Beca,” she croaked out. “Why would you risk all that, just for a race?” 

Beca sighed. “But it’s not just a race, it’s the Santa Anita. I  _ had  _ it, but I fucked up, and I can’t let that second chance slip through my fingers. Seabiscuit  _ feels  _ ready.  _ I  _ feel ready. And letting Woolf race, I…” she shook her head. “You said there was no Seabiscuit without me in the equation. If you love me,  _ please  _ let me do this, Chlo. I promise I’ll let you yell at me all you want if I’m never able to walk again after that. But I  _ need  _ to do this.” 

Chloe puffed out a breath, and her shoulders sagged as the fight seemingly flooded out of her. “I hate how stubborn you are sometimes. Just like that damn horse.” 

Beca chuckled, taking a few steps closer and resting her hands on Chloe’s hips. “I love you. So fucking much.” 

“I love you, too,” Chloe murmured, resting her forehead gently against Beca’s. “If you die, I’ll never forgive you.” 

*

_ “Jumpin'Jehoshaphat, l could handle one comeback, but this is ridiculous. Who's next-- Lazarus? Oh, the heroism, the madness, the excitement. The largest crowd ever to see a race at Santa Anita!” _

Beca finished lacing the brace she had specifically had made for her leg, then stood up, applying some weight on it. 

“How does that feel?” Chicago asked, furrowing his brow. 

“Good,” Beca said. She shook out her hands and blew out a breath. “Let’s do this thing.” She let Smith help her mount up and slid her feet into the stirrups. 

“Wedding Call might burst at the end. Watch out for him.” 

Beca nodded. “I won’t make the same mistake twice.” She winked at Chloe as she started walking out of the paddock, wordlessly letting her know she’d be fine.

The crowd roared as they stepped onto the track, and Beca led Seabiscuit into his starting box. 

“Welcome back.” 

Beca glanced to her right, surprise flashing in her features at the sight of Woolf. “What are  _ you  _ doin’ here?” 

“I may not be riding him anymore, but I wasn’t gonna sit this one out. Don’t worry, I don’t stand a chance. See ya at the finish line.” 

The bell rang, and all eight horses entered in the race burst out of their boxes. Beca got boxed in right away between the rail and another horse, a pain shooting up her leg. 

“Fuck,” she grunted, her focus slipping away from the race for a few beats, long enough for her to miss her window as they moved to the first turn. “Come on, Biscuit.” 

She clicked her tongue and gave him a couple of hits on the flank, but the horse barely responded as the pack trickled away, and with it Beca’s hope to ever win Santa Anita. 

“Come on, boy,” she encouraged, though she knew it was futile. If Seabiscuit couldn’t get head to head with one of his opponents and look him in the eye, he would never get that sudden burst that came from the heart. 

It was another ten yards before Beca noticed the horse ahead of them was losing speed. Enough for them to catch up. It was Woolf. Done on purpose or not, the fact that the horse slowed down made Seabiscuit’s racing spirit spark up once more. He started fighting against her hand, jerking his head as his signal for her to let him go. 

“Go on, boy,” she shouted. “I know you can do it.” 

They got ahead of two more horses through that last turn, with four more left to pick off in the remaining stretch to secure the win. It was a long shot, but Seabiscuit had it in him. The crowd grew louder as they reached the fourth, then third position, and so did Seabiscuit’s drive for victory. 

Another burst of speed brought them neck to neck with the leader, and Beca knew Seabiscuit wouldn’t let it get it away. Neither would she.

Not again. 

A thrill of unparalleled happiness spread through her as they crossed the finish line, and she thrust a fist in the air, as the crowd saluted the two underdogs, who had come back when no one expected them to. 

*

Santa Anita was their final race. 

Seabiscuit retired after that, and Beca decided to stop racing because she knew she wouldn’t find another Seabiscuit; the horse who had mended her broken spirit and gave her the belief it was possible to rise again.

The horse who had led her to Chloe. Chloe, who had completely tipped her world on its axis in the best possible way, with her contagious love for life and endless beauty, both inside and out. Beca often expressed the need to pinch herself, because it still baffled her she got to spend the rest of her days with this incredible human being. 

“Where’d you go?” 

Beca blinked, realizing she’d stopped listening. A sheepish smile surfaced as she met those dazzling blue eyes. “Thinking of you.” 

Dusky light crept through the branches of the oak standing proud above them as the day drew to an end. Beca didn’t want to go back inside, perfectly content laying there in the grass by Chloe’s side. 

“Oh yeah?” She asked, shifting on her side and cradling the side of her face in her propped-up hand. “Care to share?” 

Beca didn’t wasn’t sure how to describe how she felt. It felt all too overwhelming, whenever she tried to translate the love she held within her for Chloe into words. Pablo Neruda did, however, right there in clear ink on the page open in front of her. 

“This perfectly sums it up,” she said, then started reading. 

“To not be is, perhaps, to be without you being;

without you slashing through midday

like a blue flower; without you walking, later,

through the fog and on the cobbles;

without that light you carry in your hand,

a light which others may not see as golden,

a light which no one knew was growing

like the crimson cradle of the rose.

In sum, without you being, without your coming

brusque, inciting, to know my life.

You, gust of a rosebush, wheat of the wind.

And since then I am, because you are.

Since then you are, I am, and we are.”

She looked up from the book, Chloe’s reaction causing her heart to burst. Closing the distance between them to rest her forehead against Chloe’s, Beca murmured the last line. 

“And for love I will be, you will be, we will be."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Feedback is always appreciated!


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